


Juvie

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Banshees, Dragons, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Juvie, Lightning-Born (JQ Creature), M/M, Magic, References to Child Abuse, Sharp Cheddar Cheesy, Sorcerers, and there's a HAPPY ending damn it, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what can scare kids straight? Dragon prisons.<br/>There's a scientific word for it, but that's what Mick's going with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juvie

**Author's Note:**

> This is so purely self-indulgent I don't even know what to say.

Juvie’s evolved over the years, Mick’ll give ‘em that. Last time he was in here, a scant four years ago, the yard was literally a yard leading out of the dank caves. The wards still blocked all use of magic or shape-shifting or what-the-fuck-ever, but it was in the sunshine and easily the best place most of the kids could remember seeing.

Guess they finally figured out the pretty field was an incentive rather than a positive encouragement. Now they keep the kids inside the caves, with a twist.

‘Cause you know what can scare kids straight? _Dragon prisons_.

There’s a scientific term for it, but that’s what Mick’s going with. The dragons look like they’re in cages, anyway—really nice ones, solid, smooth, clear crystal guaranteeing no chance of feeling a damn thing. Their gawking audiences, however, usually take one look at their terrifying faces, close up and personal, and piss themselves.

Used to be, these kinds of chambers were considered sacred. Now they’re putting junior convicts in them and hoping the dragons’ frozen forms, posed in various menacing positions, will drill a traumatizing message into their brains. Society’s progress, ladies and gentlemen.

Mick’s sixteen now. The dragons do scare the fuck out of him, though he gets used to it when he finds an amber-colored crystal harboring a gargantuan beast of a Fire Element. At least Mick figures it’s a Fire, considering the frozen flames spouting from the volcanic craters on their back. They spread like huge neck spikes from shoulder to the beginning of the dragon’s tail, wings spread to avoid their blasts. With a build like that, only another creature with fire in their veins could hope to ride them.

The day Mick lays eyes on this beauty is the day he knows he’s gonna do whatever he can to come back and visit.

There are four other dragons imprisoned in the walls: a purple one containing a black stormcloud that turns out to actually be a Lightning Element caught between forms; Mick’s newest infatuation, whose snout is _right_ in front of the viewer and wide manic eyes fixed just the same; a green with an enormous obsidian biped whose fists are clenched and jaws gaping open to reveal _quite_ the set of teeth; and finally, a white containing a set of eyeballs, wings, neck fins, and an underbelly that’s actually an Ice blending into their backdrop.

That Ice is how Mick meets Lenny Snart.

See, even the toughest kids in juvie huddle with their friends or curl into themselves when brought before the crystals whose size make sprawling mansions look like summer cottages. Mick’s the only one not affected the same way, instead matching crazy eyes for crazy eyes with the Fire as he talks to them about everything and nothing. At least, he _thought_ he was the only one, but it turns out that pale twig of a kid was blending into his backdrop too.

Mick recognizes him; everybody does. Leonard Snart, son of an exiled ex-knight and part of the handful of ice sorcerers that stick around for the warm seasons. What set him apart from the Ice’s prison are the dark bruises on his snow white face and the blood red lips. Like a fairy tale, Mick jokes in his head.

The bruises fade over the next couple weeks, but those lips don’t stop attracting attention. Mick sits next to his Fire’s snout and keeps muttering while he watches the stupid kid mouth off to the wrong people. In a fair fight, Snart’s not bad.

Every single time the other kids walk away, Snart picks himself up from the dirt and wanders to the Ice’s cage. Pupiless blue glare at something way, _way_ over his head, but Snart leans against their outstretched paw as if ready to be snatched. And what do you know, he starts talking too.

“How weird is that?” Mick murmurs to his Fire. Probably shouldn’t be thinking of them as _his_ , but it’s not like they’re gonna wake up anytime soon, so.

* * *

One of the kids has a shiv.

Violent ice stabs its way into Mick’s spine. Snart’s annoying, but he doesn’t deserve to die.

So Mick helps him out. While not above average for someone his age, he’s still one of the older kids and has a reputation for knowing his way in a fight. In the end, all he’s gotta do is kick one of ‘em in the back and they scatter. Kinda disappointing, really.

Snart doesn’t pull any punches himself. “What do I owe you?”

Mick suddenly feels oddly bereft. He shakes it off and replies, “One of those guards is a smoker. Get me their lighter and we’ll call it square.”

He gets the fucker that very night. Snart presses the cold metal into his unsuspecting hand as they’re herded back to their cells.

That smoker’s a sharp war vet who despises kids. How’d that runt get his lighter so quick? Mick’s gotta ask.

Snart, once again huddled against the white crystal, shrugs and says, “Wasn’t hard. I picked his pocket.”

Sharp. War vet. Hates kids.

Mick thrusts out his hand. “Name’s Mick Rory, by the way.”

Snart’s eyebrows twitch towards each other. Nevertheless, he cautiously reaches back and says, “Leonard Snart. Leo, if you want.”

Mick scrunches his nose a little. “ _Leo_? Your mom give you that one?”

Snart tenses. “Mom hung herself,” he answers curtly.

“Oh,” Mick says. Then, shrugging, he plops on the jagged rock next to Snart and says, “I burned my parents alive.”

Snart barely bats an eyelash. “Did you now?” he says—got that drawl down even then.

Mick rolls up his sleeves, exposing the burn marks. “Read ‘em and weep.”

“Come over here to cool off, then?”

“Nah. I just wanted to say hey.”

The kid doesn’t seem to know what to do with that. He ends up offering a lame, “Hey.”

Mick snorts, “Hey.” After a beat, he jerks his chin at his Fire, “So, Snart, if you ever wanted to heat up a bit, I’ll be over there.”

“I know.”

Mick grins all the way back to them. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs, knocking gently on the crystal, “you’ll never guess what just happened.”

* * *

The rest of Snart’s sentence goes like that. Sometimes Mick’ll hop over to the Ice, sometimes it’ll be the other way ‘round. They talk, exchange a few barbs and basic facts. Turns out Snart’s got a little sister, Lisa, and he really hopes she’s okay. Mick recounts a few funny stories from the farm and how his mom could never play Captain & Tennille when his dad was around.

“Look at that,” Mick says one day, “we got some common ground, you and me. Crap fathers squad.”

Snart shrugs. “My dad’s not so bad,” he says, “he never goes too far, y’know? And he takes care of us, teaches us what he can. Deep down, he’s actually a nice guy.” Fingers absent-mindedly picking at the impenetrable crystal behind him, “Not his fault, what happened. Somebody ratted him out.”

Ice, like before, invades Mick’s spine. This time though, it’s a slow crawl, creeping through his nerves on the legs of a thousand invisible spiders.

He puts an arm around Snart’s teeny-tiny shoulders. “Snart,” he says, “one of these days I’m gonna protect you from your old man and you’ll see that when it comes to crap fathers, there _is_ no ‘deep down’.”

Snart pushes him away and doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the week. Mick keeps standing up for him anyway.

After all, he thinks, what are friends for?

* * *

“You can call me Leo, y’know.”

“Not a chance. Tell you what: how about I call you ‘Lenny’ instead?”

“ _Lenny_?”

“Fine. Len.”

Len’s baby blues sparkle in the Ice’s light. “Okay,” he quietly replies.

“Alright!” grins Mick, “I was gettin’ tired of ‘Snart’ anyway. Y’know, you shouldn’t carry your dad’s name around like that.”

“Why not?”

Yeah, no. Mick’s not letting this kid walk alone anymore.

* * *

Their goodbye’s awkward as it gets. Mick considers him his first best friend, but he’s not sure if Len sees him as more than a friendly acquaintance or repaid debt.

They settle for a handshake. Mick tells him, plain and simple, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

He thinks he sees Len smile, just a little bit. “Keep her company before then.”

Mick doesn’t get the chance to ask what he meant. Once he gets to the yard, however, it’s simple enough.

“Lenny pegged you for a girl, huh?” he says, hands on his hips, “Well, you look deadly enough. Could probably snap me in half with one talon, I bet.”

He alternates between the dragons. It’s not enough to distract him from his need for fire, but it’ll do in terms of distracting him from the Len-sized hole at his side.

* * *

“I’m gettin’ out tomorrow,” Mick tells his Fire, affectionately patting the amber crystal, “gonna miss you.”

His voice dips low when he speaks to Len’s Ice: “Don’t you worry, pretty. I’ll keep him nice and safe for you.”

He could swear he sees something flicker in the eyes.

* * *

When Mick’s seventeen, he finally meets Lenny again. He’s wetting his feet in the criminal underworld, since he can get paid to set things on fire. Turns out the job he’s taken is under the command of none other than Lewis-crap-father-Snart.

When Mick calls to him, Len whirls around and shows off his shiner, brand new by the looks of it. Mick’s fingertips spark.

“Hey again,” he says, tossing his arm around the kid’s shoulders. “Tiny as ever, huh?”

Len glowers at him. “I’ve gotten _taller_ , Mick.”

“Uh-huh.”

Now that their powers are let loose, fire and ice soak together when they touch. Mick can’t say he’s complaining.

“Your Ice says hey, too,” he tells Len. “Why’d you think they’re a girl?”

“Just felt like one.”

Mick snickers, “Bet you know _all_ about how female dragons feel, huh Lenny?”

Len gives him a bony elbow to the ribs. Mick, laughing, tugs him closer.

All the while, he can feel Lewis Snart glaring daggers at him.

When he ends up back in juvie because of Lewis’ shit planning, Mick can’t say he’s surprised.

Oh well. He’ll see Len again. At this point, Mick’s accepted the fact that he’s gonna follow that kid around until Lenny tells him not to—and even then he’ll keep stickin’ up for him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he sighs, “long time.”

* * *

Lenny ends up in juvie again too. He’s sporting a broken wrist and suspicious-looking cuts on his arms.

This time, he shies from Mick’s arm. Mick settles for sitting shoulder to knee.

The first day Len starts walking towards Mick and his Fire, Mick pats the amber and jumps to his feet.

“Nah, Lenny,” he says, “you gotta keep ice on those cuts.”

Len’s throat bobs. “Who says?”

“ _You_ did, when I got cut.”

The runt can’t very well argue with that.

They settle in front of Len’s Ice’s talons. Mick can’t stand hanging out with this much cold, but it’s worth it when Len relaxes at his side.

* * *

Len breaks into Mick’s cell three times before they’re finally bunked together.

“Why d’you wanna shack up with me?” asks Mick.

Oddly enough, Len looks at him like he’s nuts and snaps, “Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

Mick goes to sleep feeling warm.

* * *

This time, they get out within days of each other. Their powers flow together as if they’ve been Complements for years. They hang out for the weekend before promising to keep in touch and going their separate ways for a while.

Mick doesn’t take any other jobs without first checking that Lewis Snart ain’t the director. He spends the next few years traveling from state to state, checking in with Lenny twice a week ‘cause he knows that little bastard isn’t gonna remember to take care of himself. Lisa must be quite a sweetheart.

On a few jobs, Mick gets to work with phoenixes. They leave him with scars from their play and he loves them to pieces.

Yet, while he’s never seen them breathe, he knows his Fire surpasses them all.

* * *

Overtime, the Ice and Fire dragons from juvie become somewhat of a running joke when things get bad. The tradition starts when Len’s seventeen and calls Mick at three in the morning.

“Lenny, whaddayah want?” Mick groans.

When he doesn’t hear anything but short pants, adrenaline wakes him right up.

Harder, more urgent, “Len?”

 _“Nothin’,”_ Len tries to say, _“Nothin’, Mick. Wrong number.”_

“You ain’t the guy who dials wrong numbers, and I’m in your contacts!” Mick snaps. He’s already sitting up and groping for a pair of pants, calculating the fastest way to Central City with his bike. “What’s goin’ on? You need help? You gotta work with me here, buddy.”

 _“I’m—Lisa’s with me. She’s sleepin’. Uh.”_ Len gasps. No, wait, he’s not gasping, he’s…Mick freezes.

Lenny’s _crying_.

_“Mick. My dad—he brought—I didn’t—”_

Panic burns hot in Mick’s gut. Fuck the shirt; he’s got a jacket. “Where are you, Lenny? You got someplace I can meet yah?”

Len relays an address. Mick knows at least five ways to get there. He asks for directions. Relaying the information slows Len’s breathing, gives his mind somethin’ to focus on. They hang up somewhat calmer.

Mick meets Len and a little girl who can’t be older than eight or nine—Lisa, his baby sister. Len’s finally hit his growth spurt, now standing at Mick’s chin, but she’s _tiny_. Too tiny to have so many bruises.

They dig themselves a hole in the shit motel Len directed them to, Mick getting ice for Lisa’s bruises while Len yanks the blinds shut and locks the door behind him.

“Hi,” Lisa says. Her voice is tinier than she is and Mick aches. “Are you Mick?”

Mick gives her a lop-sided grin. “Was Lenny talkin’ about me?”

Lisa, unheeding of her brother’s warning look, chirps, “Lots!”

“Oh really?” Mick makes sure to throw a smirk Len’s way before saying, “Lenny talks about _you_ lots, too.”

Lisa’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Talked my ear off about how much you love ice skating.”

“I do!” Lisa cries, as if this is a magnificent discovery, “I _do_ love ice skating! Lenny told you about that?”

“Mmm-hm. So you just keep that on your bruises and you’ll be able to skate again in no time.”

Lisa eagerly takes the ice and plops it on the worst of her injuries. Yet as Mick goes to talk to Len, she grabs his wrist.

Mick still hasn’t forgotten the myriad of anger-despair-fear-pleading- _hope-hope-hope_ on little Lisa’s face when she softly asks, “Mick…you’re not gonna let Dad hurt Lenny again, right?”

Mick can only reply, “I can’t promise nothin’ concrete, Lisa, but I can promise I’ll try.”

She nods, lets him go into the bathroom so she can watch cartoons on the shit TV. Len had gone in there a few seconds ahead of him; now he’s sitting against the wall, and he looks _haunted_.

Mick doesn’t really know what to do, really. They’re holed up here for a while, but then what? Lewis is gonna find them, or Len’s gonna go back out of some twisted sense of loyalty. Then there’s getting the truth about what happened outta Len, who can talk all he want without actually saying a word. Hopefully sitting next to him and waiting him out’ll do something.

It seems to. After a couple minutes, Len quietly presses against his side and murmurs, “I’ve got a crap father, Mick.”

Mick flicks his lighter in a nervous tick. “You don’t gotta tell me anything,” he amends.

“I owe you—”

“Nothing.” At Len’s guarded confusion, Mick rolls his eyes, “Shit, Lenny, haven’t you figured it out? You’re my _friend_. Me and your Ice, we’ll look out for you.

Len doesn’t talk for a minute. Mick stares at his lighter’s flame to pass the time.

Then—“She’s probably broken out already.”

Mick grins, “Vixen like that? I’d be surprised if that place was still standing. My Fire’s probably followin’ her around, too.”

Len’s black and blue face lifts a little. “Yeah.”

They end up sitting there until dawn, making up stories about what those dragons were up to. It’s the closest to dreaming Len’s ever gotten.

* * *

It takes Lisa whacking him on the head with a magazine for Mick to get the message: “Kiss my brother, damn it!”

Okay, so she doesn’t say those _exact_ words, but it’s close enough.

Mick’s twenty-two, Len twenty. They’re talking about those juvie dragons again, pretending that Mr. Freeze in Gotham is actually Len’s Ice tearing cities apart looking for her rider. Len’s got this quiet smile on his face, the one he usually gets when they swap these fairy tales, and he’s definitely the most gorgeous thing since Mick’s Fire.

He makes sure not to take long swigs of beer beforehand. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want Len to remember this by, it’s the stink of alcohol. The associations alone would snap them a million steps back. He does, however, burn his fingers a little with matches for courage.

But it’s not actually him who does it.

Len watches him with the matches and asks, “Why did you burn yourself that day?”

He doesn’t need to clarify. Mick shrugs a shoulder, “Like I said, I burned my family alive.”

“You were just a kid, Mick. You couldn’t control your powers.”

“My dad tried teaching me control, but stupid me didn’t listen. ‘S only fair I didn’t get out of it without somethin’.”

Len stares at him until he snaps, “What?”

“Thought your dad was a crap father, Mick.”

…oh.

Len kisses him after that crashes on him. There’s a slight hiss of steam but all in all, it’s not too bad.

* * *

Mick’s thirty-four, Len thirty-two. Neither of them knows how the years got away from them, or how someone’s stuck with ‘em for so long.

Either way, Lisa asks, “When are you gonna stop talking about your dragons and go _get_ them?”

Mick snorts. “They’re in stasis, Lise,” _that’s_ the scientific word, “we’re just havin’ a bit of fun.”

But Len’s got that look on his face.

A week later, Mick finds himself being introduced to a banshee and a lightning-born. The latter he’s not sure about, but _her_ he likes.

“Sara Lance,” he says, “Star City 2012 Sara Lance?”

Sara smirks, “And you’re lovable Mick Rory. Finally we meet.”

Len cuts in to introduce Barry Allen. From the way he looks at both newcomers, Mick has to say he’d prefer the threesome with Lance.

* * *

The juvie’s been moved. Now the cave’s a museum of sorts. Makes casing the place easier, at any rate.

Sara grins, “Four dragons, huh?”

It clicks for Mick as Len smirks, “Only fair.”

He can’t imagine the intimidation Sara would have with a dragon. Doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks Lenny that night thinking about it.

As for Allen, well. Mick doesn’t know how long he’ll survive.

* * *

Security’s pretty lax, what with the lack of stealable things. They practically walk through the front door.

Sara’s up first. She presses a hand against Len’s Ice’s crystal and concentrates. Stasis is a state of half-death; she can hear the whispers of how to avoid the full deal. After she’s got the weak spots down, she points them out to Barry, who speeds up the cave wall to zap each of them in turn—this stuff’s not easily broken if you don’t have a lotta juice, and lightning-born’s have literal storms in their bodies.

Len’s ready to ice the biggest pieces as they fall, the magic drained from them making them nothing more than shiny rock. Barry catches others, setting them harmlessly to the side.

For all the work and planning they put into this, getting the dragon out seems easy as pie.

Len’s Ice falls in a heap. The four of them barely get out of the way in time. Their scales are white as ever, long serpentine body twisting in on itself as they try to recover from centuries of imprisonment. Their tiny legs and talons flex, trembling wings folding their blue webbing. Despite the waves of cold they’re shocking the chamber with, Mick finds them absolutely stunning.

Their great head, spiked with various-sized fractals instead of horns, emits a weak groan. Len’s drawn to them immediately. He’s barely larger than a dog next to a house in comparison. Mick ignites his hands just in case the house doesn’t take kindly to the mutt.

Len gingerly places his hand near their great eye. Pupiless blue open at the contact, the Ice tilting so their chin is on the ground instead.

The four of them wait in tense silence, ready to get Len out if the dragon decides they’re more hungry than grateful. They peer at Len for stretched minutes, making the waiting time all the worse.

A cool breeze abruptly whispers through each other their heads.

The Ice speaks: _Len._

Len’s understandably surprised. Mick could laugh at how big his eyes get.

“You know me,” he murmurs, a childish wonder he’s never had coloring his voice. “How?”

_Who do you think sent Mick to protect you?_

Mick jolts. Then he remembers and whispers, “Holy shit. _Ice_.”

He’d felt ice the day he saved Len’s life. Felt it when he swore to protect him, too. “How the fuck did you do that?”

The Ice rumbles, eyes half-lidding with fatigue. _Not easily._ Dragging their tail into a coil, _Free my brethren as you planned, but I would have Len stay with me._

As if Len would actually step away. This time Mick does snicker.

The cold retreats, though it probably stays with Len as he pushes to his feet and lets the— _his_ , they’re _actually_ his—Ice curl around him like a huge possessive snake.

Mick cracks his knuckles. “Fire,” he says.

This Ice is probably gonna be the most benign they encounter. Mick’s more than ready for the rest.

Sara rolls her eyes, but directs Barry to the amber. As they suspected, the Fire bursts from their stasis limbs flying and craters belching flame.

Mick laughs and leaps in. Just as he’s always wanted, he claws his way onto the dragon’s back and stands directly in their flames.

“Hello, beautiful!” he crows.

All at once, both flames and roars silence.

A blunt, sharp poke at Mick’s consciousness. _Mick?_

They recognize him. Mick could die happy right here and now.

The dragon harrumphs a barrage of smoke. _Of course I recognize you. I had to listen to you yammering at me for_ months _about what you had for lunch and how much you wanted to kiss that boy._ They don’t sound too bothered, though. _What are you doing here?_

“What d’you think? Me and my crew here busted you out.”

Their giant scorched charcoal head rears, whirling around to scrutinize him. Unlike Len’s Ice, they’ve got pupils in their molten eyes, blown wide with their sudden freedom. Their serrated horns nearly knock Mick off with the turn, curved towards the back as they are.

 _And it took you this long be_ cause _…?_

They sound so much like Lenny it’s weird.

_I take that as a compliment. But if you try to kiss me, I’ll claw you to pieces._

“We didn’t actually think we could do it,” Mick admits, “but Len got himself a shiny plan. Thank his sister when you meet her.”

 _Duly noted. I’m about to set myself on fire,_ they add bluntly, _are you staying on my back?_

“That even a question?”

Sara face-palms as dragon and man reignite with jubilant shouts. “You do realize we need at least _one_ of you, right?” she calls in vain.

Len drawls from where he’s still lounging in his Ice’s embrace, happy as a cold cucumber, “Give it a minute.”

After that minute, the flames die down again and Mick slides off. “Alright!” he says, “Let’s get these other ones.”

His Fire pokes at Sara and Barry too, prompting Barry to rub his temple with a grimace. _The black one’s my best friend._

Sara saunters to said dragon, saying, “What a coincidence. I want to make a new friend.”

_They’ve got quite the set of lungs on ‘em, though. Step aside._

Mick splays himself across their craters as they— _for fuck’s sake, it’s_ ze, _Mick_ —as ze lumbers across the chamber to their supposed best friend. Ze makes a sequence of long and short noises, chronically hoarse with the smoke in zir throat.

 _We can hear from the inside_ , ze explains, _I’m telling vis not to go berserk when we free vis._

“How considerate of you,” Sara says. Ze preens under her praise, which Mick can fully understand—not gonna lie, he’d be feeling pretty damn proud of himself if Sara Lance told him so.

They break ve out, Mick now having zir help in melting the biggest pieces. Ze’s got a molten volcanic breath despite the dry fire from their back, and Mick thinks he’s in love.

_What did I say about kissing me?_

“I ain’t gonna kiss you.”

Ze flicks him of zir back anyway. Barry speeds him safely to the ground.

“Way to go,” Len says. Mick can hardly see him among the white scales.

“Shuddup, Snart.” Mick’s forced to apologize when Len’s Ice snarls at him for that; he can just _imagine_ the bastard’s shit-eating smirk.

The obsidian biped stumbles a bit, but with the help of ver wings, ve stays balanced. Thankfully no screams happen either, though a low relieved roar does.

Ze calls to vis. Ve greets ver best friend with a huge dragon hug.

Barry takes a picture before asking, “Why doesn’t vis open ver eyes?”

A draconic chuckle shakes the cave. Ver presence is a prowling, unsettling quiet at the edge of their heads. _My eyes_ are _open, dear one._

Mick hisses in sympathy. “Who took ‘em out?”

 _Hopefully they’re still alive,_ is all ve says in answer before setting zem down and asking, _Now is this banshee going to speak or not?_

Sara blows them all outta the water when she sprints to the open talons and says, “Hey, Laurel.”

 _Hello, sister. Oh,_ Laurel adds in the ensuing quiet, _did you not tell them about me?_

Sara smirks. “I wanted to see the look on their faces.” She relays a few mental snapshots, making Laurel snicker.

“Did your dad fuck a dragon or somethin’?” Mick demands.

“Nah,” Sara says, “my sister’s human body died a while ago. As an apology for the mistake, Death transferred her soul.”

 _We’re favorites,_ Laurel says.

“Death _apologized_ to you?” Barry cries.

“I’m not surprised,” Len says.

Mick adds his two cents, “Me neither.”

Sara smirks.

 _If we’re all quite finished,_ Len’s Ice interjects, _let’s get going._

“Wait!” Barry says, “We haven’t freed them yet.”

The dragons go quiet.

Eventually, Mick’s Fire pipes up: _It’s not a bad thing if we leave Eobard there behind._

 _Ah,_ Laurel says, _that’s why I don’t want to kill something._

Barry shakes his head vehemently. “Lightning Elements are barely around anymore. Let me free them.”

Len, who’s reluctantly dug himself out of his scaly bed, shares a look with Mick. Anybody with lightning magic like Barry’s is definitely rare; it’s no wonder he came along.

“This Eobard,” Len says, “what’s he like?”

His Ice replies, _Conniving, manipulative, sarcastic. While not psychopathic, he’s certainly an—acquired taste._

“Sounds like Len,” Sara says. Mick snorts.

But Barry’s already sparking at the edges. “Please.”

And, really, Allen’s got the most potent puppy eyes Mick’s ever seen. Laurel can’t even see him, but ve sighs all the same.

 _He’ll run off as soon as he’s out_ , ve warns.

“I can follow,” Barry replies. Mick can’t say for sure whether or not he’s overestimating his abilities, since the kid’s pretty damn fast, but he’s gonna lean towards yes. Ze silently agrees.

Laurel’s right. The instant Eobard’s cloud bursts from its prison, the dragon takes solid form and speeds off in a flash of red lightning. With only the quickest thank you, Barry gives chase.

“Great manners he’s got there,” Sara deadpans.

Mick chides Len, “And you wanted to fuck that.”

* * *

“The circle is now complete,” Lisa jokes when Mick and Len meet her at the designated warehouse with two dragons in tow.

 _Are you Lisa?_ asks Mick’s Fire.

“Why _yes_ I am,” Lisa smirks.

_I’ve been told I have you to thank for getting Mick’s ass in gear._

“Oh darling, think nothing of it. It’s practically my job. So do you have names? Pronouns? Common sense?”

As Mick grins, Len’s Ice replies, _I’ve forgotten my name. I am, however, female._

Well fuck Mick sideways. Lenny was right.

 _I hate my name,_ his Fire adds, _and I’ve got ze, zir, zem. Since we’re sticking around for a while, do you have any suggestions?_

In the end, Mick’s laughing. _Captain and Tennille_.

* * *

“Lenny.”

“Hm?”

Mick rolls over and grins. “What d’you think your Ice is doin’ right now?”

Len touches their foreheads. His smile is warm.

* * *

Tennille looks at the mess of blankets in the corner where Mick and Len are nuzzling. Looks at Captain. Looks back at the corner.

“…so—”

Without even opening her eyes, Captain snaps, “No.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
